


Fallen

by claire_bear97



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angels, Demons, Depression, Original Character(s), Other, faith - Freeform, just a story im writing, struggles with faith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_bear97/pseuds/claire_bear97
Summary: I promised my day started normal, then I saw the man with horns on his head.-This is just some short story I'm writing. Any help would be good.





	1. Fallen 1

I promise my day started normal until I saw the man with horns on his head. I don’t mean little plastic Halloween horns, even if I saw that it would be weird for someone to be wearing them in July. I mean honest to god little horns about two to three inches long sprouting around his temple area. My day started normal. I woke up with a mission to get coffee and to begin the job hunt. Being that school was out for the summer and I made a vow to myself to not do summer courses at my college. Because of that vow, I took it upon myself to get a job so I don’t get big and fat.

This is where horn man pops back up. It’s not overly crowded in town and probably because it is Sunday, everyone and their mother is in one church or another. Growing up in the Bible Belt, that tends to happen. I would label myself as somewhat Catholic but I’m not zealous about it. Unless someone died or is getting married, I don’t go to church. Passing by the St. James Cathedral is when I first saw the horned man. He was just standing in front of the doors. Looking like he was contemplating to go in for mass. I wouldn't have even noticed the horns if the wind hasn't picked up and I saw his hair move and his horns were revealed. Not a judging person and only slightly curious, I walked on by. Early on in life, I made the decision to just let people be, for I’m not a social person to begin with. It also doesn’t help that almost anyone who opens their mouth around here usually has something exceedingly stupid to say.

I walk to the coffee shop across the street to try my luck for a job there. Fifteen minutes later and a small coffee, I walk out with no job but free coffee for asking. The Horned Man has left the church and is sitting just outside the coffee shop. This is when I get overly curious.

Weighing the odds of what would happen if I sit and talk, and decide to risk it by going for the sit and talk. Before I do, I take a moment to study him. He didn’t have a weird hair color, or colored contact eyes. His attire seemed like he had just got out of church, save his shoes. Black dress pants with a kind of off white shirt. No tie and converse to match his shirt. Slightly odd, but I’m more interested on why this man has horns on his head. Looking at his face, his eyes are steely gray and looked timeless. His hair is short and jet black. Creamy pale skin like he doesn’t favor the summer weather all that much. As I go to sit down though, the Horned Man walks off.

I tried very hard to convince myself to not follow him and fail horrendously. I watched him cross the street and walk into St. James. I turn to see a lady with no coffee in her hands and give to her with a smile. I should have taken the time to appreciate her smile and say don’t mention it when she says thank you but I don’t. I had a horned man to follow. I knew the priest in St. James because that was the church of choice in my family growing up. Crossing the street, trying to figure out exactly why I needed to follow this horned man, I thought for real if those horns were authentic. With plastic surgery, a person can basically do anything nowadays. I also began to get a sense of familiarization as if I have known the horn man from somewhere but the feeling dissipates when I walk in the church.

When entering the church, it never fails. A case of goosebumps breaks out over my arms as I look at the stain glass windows. Its habit really. Ever since I was a child, the stain glass windows held my attention all throughout mass. It wasn’t because the windows were extravagantly done or adorned with gold trim, no. It was because the Angels had always moved in the windows. The windows depicted bible scenes; Some angels, and others with biblical figures such as Mary, St. Peter, Jesus for sure. In the past, Angels raised their swords at me, while the other figures bowed. As a child, it scared me with the swords up and raise like they were about to attack, but then I figured out it was a sort of salute. The same kind as in the military. I never figured out why they moved and only one person knew what I saw. As I looked at the windows now, not even an angel wing twitched. Suddenly, I was hit with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. I did not expect the angels to move after so many years, but I guess I was expecting it still.

Looking around the church, I realized that morning mass had just ended. Church goers still lingered to talk about the past week they had or remained to talk to the priest. Father Anthony has been the head priest at St. James for as long as I have been alive. Probably longer. Looking for him, I saw him talking at the door with leaving church goers, always saying the same thing. “Have a blessed day.” or “Have a blessed week.” If they only came on Sundays. Catching his eye, Father Anthony smiled and nodded his head. I nodded and smiled back. It would be a sin if I didn’t. I stood there, looking at the windows above him while more people left. Glancing at him again, he gave me a look that said stay while. Again, I nodded in understanding. It would be a greater sin if I ignored him. Still standing in the back of the church I turned and looked for the horned man. St. James is not an overly large church but it isn’t small either. Name one small Cathedral. I look towards the altar where people shouldn’t be and saw the Bishop's chair. It being called the Bishop's chair, only the Bishop can sit there. And because I didn’t get the memo of Bishop coming into town, I wondered who could be sitting in the chair.

I turned to walk down the far-right side of the pews near the wall and was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. Now, in my entire 23 years of living, not once have I had the need to use self-restraint to keep myself from screaming Jesus Christ in a church. By the grace of God, I managed to not scream anything but I did jump like a little kid. I turned to see who’s had was on my shoulder and saw that it belonged to Father Anthony, who was trying desperately not to laugh at me.

“It has been quite some time since I have gotten the jump on you, Alex.”

I felt my faces heat up and tried to regulate my heartbeat back to normal. When I felt the steady beat go normal, I spoke

“You caught me when I was distracted Father. Rarely do people get the jump on me, but you always were scary quiet.”

Father Anthony stared at me and I held his gaze. He was probably thinking why the hell am I here. I was right.

“What brings you here today, Alex? You missed morning mass and yet you look dressed for the part.”

As in taking I my appearance for the first time today, I realized he was semi right. I knew from past job hunting experiences that if you walk in an establishment, looking for a job, in torn up jeans and an old rock t-shirt, you won't get past the door. I was wearing black slacks, and a white button up shirt. I forewent any jackets or ties because it was too bloody hot for that nonsense. I guess I did look ready for church but not really if you know what I mean.

After taking in my appearance, I remembered why I came into the church in the first place. I turned back to look at the Bishop’s chair to find it unoccupied. Father Anthony followed my gaze with a carefully blank face.

“Was there a Bishop in today Father?”

His face broke the blank face into a puzzled expression. Still looking at the chair he spoke,

“Is that what it would take for you to attend mass regularly?”

I chuckled. I wouldn't lie, if there was a Bishop going over mass every Sunday night, I would here every single time.

“Sadly, no Bishop has graced our church recently. And not for a while it seems. Why do you ask?”

I thought about telling him about the horned man I saw earlier but the sudden realization hit me. If I tell a holy man that I have been seeing a man with horns on his head and that he was sitting in the Bishop's chair, he would think I saw a demon and call me crazy. No chance in hell am I gonna risk that.

“No reason Father. I thought I saw something sitting in the chair but it must have been trick of the light.”

“Is that what you thought of the Angels when you were younger?”

Something inside me stopped. I have never mention the Angels to anyone, save one person. I looked at Father Anthony and his face was serious and looking above me. I turned around to find the Angels have moved. Their swords raised in salute while the other figures bowed. I found myself sitting in a pew. Disbelief etched on my face as I tried to tell myself this was real. I wasn't a kid anymore with an overactive imagination. I'm a 23-year-old man and could think rationally for myself but the Angels have moved. There is no denying it. I felt a hand back on my shoulder and turned to see Father Anthony still looking at the windows with a slight smile on his face. I had an onslaught of questions.

"Did they really move? Is this real? Can you can see them too? Aren't they saluting you then? They should be saluting to the priest of the church and not to a kid like me, right?"

Father Anthony looked me with emotions I can't name. It took him a while to speak,

"The Angels salute to warriors of God when they enter the church. Once long ago they saluted me but my service as god’s warrior has ended. They salute to you now and only you. But yes, I see them move. When you entered the church when you were around five, I saw them move. It has been eighteen years since they have moved. Excitedly I looked through the crowd of mass to see if anyone had noticed the movement and only you stared at the windows the entire time. Every time since then they have moved for you. When you entered the church a short while ago I expected the Angels to move but they didn't. I feared your service had ended before it even begun. But when you looked towards the Bishops chair, they moved. I knew it was time."

Still staring at the Angels, I let his words sink in. What service was I about to endure? I didn’t sign up for any service. Even if they angels in the windows could move. Could I handle it? Father Anthony continued to speak,

"What you saw sitting in the chair was no Bishop. It was something infinitely more powerful. You may have seen him around. He isn’t really a social person but It's high time the two of you met."

Only slightly comforted by the fact the priest could see angels move too, I followed him to the Bishop’s chair. Behind it was a seating for a choir and that's where the horned man sat. He seemed less than pleased to see me or was upset that I could see him. His eyes that held that timeless stare had a pained gleam in them. He didn't stand up or speak but simply stared back at the Angels in the Windows. Father Anthony made way closer to him. Assuming he can see him too, I followed. Forget assuming, I know Father Anthony can see him. All I could think was that I'm not crazy, yet.

Again, the strange feeling of sadness filled me with the vague notion that I had seen him before came back such a force that I had to sit. I sat right there on the floor, few feet from the choir seats and right at the feet of Father Anthony. As I sat, I didn't think about what would the horned man or the priest think, for I didn't care at this point. I waited. I didn't think it was time for me to speak yet nor did I think I could trust myself to speak. Father Anthony ended the waiting game.

"Alex, tell me how you feel."

Very odd question in my opinion but I examined how I felt. I didn't feel afraid in the presence of the horned man, like I hadn't when I saw him earlier, but I felt a variety of emotions that I knew weren't mine. Like a levee breaking, all emotions drowned me until I focused on my breathing. Then I started ticking off the emotions.

"Overwhelming sadness, to begin with. I felt it first when I entered the church and again when walking back here. Sitting here though, I feel remorse, anger, and ..."

This new emotion filled me so suddenly that again I had to focus on my breathing. I had only felt this once and it took years to rid myself of it. Father Anthony knew what I was feeling and said,

"Despair."

I looked at Father Anthony and then to the horned man. His face hasn't changed but his eyes looked red. Recently crying red. Filled with despair red. That's when it hit me. me and the priest were feeling what this man was feeling, but slowly I was beginning to think that this wasn't a man.

The horned man slowly stood up and when he did, the Angels lowered their swords and returned to their normal positions within the Windows. That didn't interest me though. What held my attention thoroughly was that the horned man had wings and they were crumbling.


	2. Fallen 2

The shock of looking at this man with wings took a while. The shock of Father Anthony telling me that this man is an angel took much longer. How often does someone look at real Angels? Father Anthony was more concerned with the state of his wings.

"I thought that the disintegration of your wings happened much later.”

The horned man looked at his wings then back at the priest.

“It usually takes longer, but as you said Father, I am special. I’m fading faster than one normally would.”

His voice had a resonating effect to it. It was deep and low and carried throughout the church. Once it could have sounded melodic and full of life, now it had a deadpan tone to it. The type of tone when you don’t care about anything anymore. Then he focused his full attention on me. Under his intense stare, I felt like he knew my whole life story. Every emotion, every pain, every victory was known to him and I felt completely exposed and vulnerable. The horned man spoke to me this time.

“For the sake of intellect, you can call me Ian. Horned man does not seem acceptable for any reason. As for the horns on my head, Alex, it is because I am changing. Changing from an angel to a demon. Why the priest thinks you can help is beyond me.” 

Helping? It that what I'm doing? I could barely help myself. Still sitting, I reflect on what I have heard and what I have seen in the last hour or so. For a moment, I considered his tone towards me like he was speaking to a child. A little flame of anger sparked to life but I kept it at bay. In the past, I have not thought that much about faith, Angels, and demons or anything religious for that matter. All for a variety of reasons. I labeled myself as a Catholic because it was my father's religion. Now I'm talking to an angel/demon like I'm having Sunday coffee with one of my aunts.

I look at “Ian” then back to back Father Anthony. Should I be feeling humble? A sense of assurance that there are Angels, proof of my religion? Happy? Angry? I don't know what I'm supposed to feel because I'm not feeling anything. This should be shocking but I don't feel shocked at all. Almost like I had known all along. I know I'm not dreaming because I can still feel the caffeine I had earlier buzz through my systems.

Still pondering how I should feeling, Father Anthony spoke,

“Alex, Ian is trouble. As you can tell, he is losing his angelic grace, reasons unbeknownst to me at this time. Although I can figure A reasonable guess, I won't voice it just yet. When you came into the church, Alex, you felt sadness and sorrow, I as well felt it when Ian entered the church. Then you felt despair. I believe Ian here is having a moment of doubt in God. Or something happened that has Ian believing God isn't everything he thought.”

Angels doubting God. Beautiful. Going back to if I should think this as proof of my religion thought is fleeting. If this angel is turning because he is losing his faith, then I am in major trouble.

“Well Father, it seems you know what is the dilemma. The question is now, ‘Do I want to stop the turn’?

Ian spoke in such a somber tone I didn't think it to be possible. Thinking at the question made me shudder. Here before me is an angle of the lord, debating if he wants to gain his faith back in God. His love, his loyalty, his strength, everything he was made for, only to throw it away. I had to speak up, but I didn't know how to start. I asked what I had thought since I had seen him.

“What are…?” 

I stopped and reconsidered my words. 

“What were you?” I asked slowly.

Ian looked at me, in a slightly puzzled way. For the third time, I had the sense of knowing coursed through me but again, I couldn't place it. He sighed heavily and straightened his shoulders with what seemed the weight of the world rested on them. He stood and stretched his fragile wings to where I could see every detail. They were silver and black in ways of shading I didn't think possible. It was breathtaking and yet sad. Feathers were crumpled and missing and the wings had lost their glossy shine to them. Glowing faintly above his head was a halo. The image had only lasted a few seconds and then I blinked. The halo had vanished and his wings were tucked behind him. Ian appeared to be sweating as if this act took enormous strength to show me. He had shown me his past self, minus the horns.

“I was a warrior for centuries and then was asked to be a guardian angel for those of enormous importance. Only until recently have I been out of position. A terrible event happened that could have been avoided if God intervened when I asked him and now, I doubt. He didn't come when I called. No one came when I prayed, called, cried, shouted, or asked. Silence surrounded me and then, the first feather fell. That's when I knew I was being punished for doubting. And now, five years later, my turn is almost complete. True. I did not think it would be so soon. It took others years. But the real question is, Do I want this to stop though?”

Ian sat down and remained silent, almost as if he was lost in thought. At this point a million questions were going through my mind. Father Anthony took me aside.

“Alex, the angles see you as a warrior if God. It is no mistake that you can see Ian or that the angles salute you as you walk past them. It is my firm believe that your mission is to save Ian. Save him from the despair and the doubt that he has fallen into. As an angel, this is destroying him both inside and out. There is more to this matter than meets the eye but he won't say anymore here.”

He looked at my fully in the face and asked,

“Questions?”

In my mind, I said a fuck ton but that would be a cardinal sin is I said that out loud to a priest. I took a moment to reflect and then spoke.

“Father, I probably have too many questions. Some involving worthiness, self-doubt, and the infamous why me.”

“Ah, the oldest questions about faith. I sense more though. Continue.”

“Knowing that there is a real angel, that it was sitting in the bishop's chair, should be proof or clarity of my faith and religion. But it doesn't. I have many questions for God, and he isn't answering. If Ian is having the same problems, then why is upon me to save him? I know that because of my sister's death, I have lost my way a bit, but if I can't save myself, what makes me worthy of saving an angel? Another warrior of God I am told. I don't even know what it means to be a warrior if God.”

Father Anthony looked at me with a carefully blank face. I have just told him thoughts my own parents don't know. That I didn't even know until voiced them aloud. If Father Anthony knew the answers to my questions, he wasn't telling. I continue.

“If I am the same state of Ian, why am I a warrior if God?”

Father Anthony looked at me for a considerable amount of time. Weighing what I had just said to him and finding the best way of answering me. Then he looked at Ian and then up to what I could only assume was heaven. A small smile appeared. Infuriating was that smile because it meant one thing, he knew and he wasn't telling.

Suddenly he turned back to me with no smile playing on his features. He looked like he was about to deliver some sort of sermon on me but I knew better that that. He was about to tell me something important and it was in my best interest to listen.

“Alex, before I was a priest, I was in the military. Not as a navy doctor or some sort of missionary priest, but as a full-fledged oorah Marine. I have seen the horrors and uselessness of war. But while fighting, I saw something else entirely. Miracles. I was never in a Catholic Church long enough to see the Angels move but I could feel and listen. Something telling me when to duck, where to step. It saved my life and the lives of my men as well. But one morning, the unforeseeable happened. It was early in the morning when my squad was bombed and I was the sole survivor. Years of grief and guilt consumed me. I thought I had missed a command or felt something else and that's what lead my men to die. That thought of self-doubt was crippling. That's when I began to see. Not Angels though, demons. They were coming for me because of the despair I had gotten into and then I knew what I had to do. My calling had come again to be a warrior of God but on a different front. Here, the church is my front but I came here broken. Now, I am whole again by the grace of God. My duty was the help those who had fallen into despair and bring them back into light. And every person I saved, I saved a little bit of myself.”

I looked at him astonished. He cleared his throat and continued to say what I needed to hear.

“Being a warrior of God, Alex, means you are doing something far above you. You are called to do god's will in ways ordinary people can't. You are armed with faith and trust in God and those two things will get you through anything. All you have to do is believe.”

Here as I stand, I knew more about our priest than most people in the whole town. Never in my whole life would I have pegged him as military or a bloody marine no less. His words somewhat stilled the questions running through my mind and left me with something to ponder. Have I been waiting for God to magically fix my life? For all my sorrows and troubles to be erased? Looking at Ian, who was looking back at me, I saw something. The same expression I see every morning when I look in the mirror. Alive for another pointless day. Something within me clicked and I knew what I had to do.

In order to save myself, I would have to save Ian first.


End file.
